


Wine and Whiskey

by Samwritess



Series: Eat, Drink, and Be Merry [1]
Category: The X-Files
Genre: Drunken Kissing, F/M, First Time, Fluff and Smut, UST, major fluff, smut with feels
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-09
Updated: 2020-09-15
Packaged: 2021-01-25 23:29:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,824
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21364438
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Samwritess/pseuds/Samwritess
Summary: Scully arrives at his apartment with a bottle of wine on a Friday night and Mulder can't refuse. There's something so tempting about drinking wine from the bottle.
Relationships: Fox Mulder & Dana Scully, Fox Mulder/Dana Scully
Series: Eat, Drink, and Be Merry [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1980664
Comments: 12
Kudos: 182





	1. Chapter 1

He had never been more mesmerized in his life than by Dana Scully drinking wine from the bottle. 

She had shown up at his apartment holding it, bashfully admitting that she didn’t want to drink alone on a Friday night, practically entrapping him with a bat of her eyelashes. Of course he let her in. 

It was rare that she let her guard down like this, but you wouldn’t catch him complaining. He ushered her in with a hand on her lower back and she made herself comfortable on his couch, flipping through the channels until she landed on a rerun of some history documentary. Her energy was palpable, nervous and confident and radiating. She gazed up at him with something just short of confidence and requested a corkscrew. Who was he to deny her. 

Dana Scully sat on his couch in her maroon sweater and blue jeans on a Friday night at 9:06 pm and uncorked a bottle of white wine and he had never been more in love. Correction, he was more in love with her at 9:07 when she took a swig straight from the bottle. She drank and then let out a deep sigh, filled with all of the troubles of a not-so-9-to-5 FBI agent. He sat down opposite of her on the couch, matching her cross-legged position, and stared at her, mesmerized. She must have noticed, as she flushed and chuckled to herself, likely at the genuine absurdity of the situation.

“I’ve had a very long day,” she whispered defensively. He didn’t mind. She deserved to unwind. She passed him the bottle with a raised eyebrow and he almost denied.Thinking about how her lips and his would be touching the same lip of a bottle made him feel like a school boy analyzing the physics of cooties. He almost offered to go get them glasses, but she pushed the bottle towards him with an insistent smirk and he realized he was being ridiculous. He accepted, although still subtly trying to turn the bottle in a feeble attempt to avoid drinking from the same location she had, and he drank.

“Wanna talk about it?” he asked, wiping his mouth with the sleeve of his sweater. The wine was sweet, its flavor lingering on his lips. 

“Bill’s an ass” She said, rolling her eyes. She reached out a hand for the bottle back, and he passed it over. She brought the bottle to her lips again with no rotations, clearly unconcerned with the dynamics of indirect kissing.

“Yea he is. What’d he do this time”. His previous attempt to forget how perfect she looked as she drank was a failure. Because Dana Scully was on his couch drinking wine from the bottle. He doesn't think any sane person could ever forget that. 

“Called me up today to tell me how disappointed he was with me. How I’m a failure to our family and how I’m putting myself in danger for absolutely no reason” She laughed at this, and so did he, reveling in the ridiculousness of their day jobs. He shifted closer on the couch and she must have felt his concern because she clarified. “He heard about the case”. 

_ Of course _ . Scully took down a murderer, a serial killer at that, with her own two hands, fighting through a warehouse of traps to get to him, to catch the bad guy. She shot him with his own gun but not before he sliced a nasty gash into her side with a pocket knife. All while he’d been knocked out on the cold cement in a pile of his own vomit. She followed his profile, found the warehouse, and took the bastard down and he was  _ so god damn proud of her _ . Bill didn’t see it but he sure as hell could.

“Bill’s an idiot” He said so sincerely it made her look up from staring into the wine. 

“Yea. Yea he is” She whispered. She took another drink, and he was moving closer to her on the already small couch, like a moth to the light. 

She’s so pretty. The way the TV fluorescence bounced off of her cheek, the way her hair was tied up but the short pieces in the front whisped around her face in perfect little curls. It took all of his strength not to reach over and brush one away from her eye when she tilted her head back to take another drink from the bottle. Her neck was perfect porcelain, he dreamed of running his lips over the smooth skin she exposed. When she finishes, he forces himself to look at the TV screen instead of the little drop of white wine remaining on her lip. 

She looks down at the bottle, then up at him through her lashes. She was coy, vulnerable, he knew this step, whatever it was, was big. Scully had shown up to his apartment before, but it was usually due to work. Showing up with wine and personal feeling was teetering on the edge of something more than partnership. His eyes flick down to the bottle and she offers it to him. Their fingertips brush and he shudders. He sees her watching him drink. 

They are rudely interrupted by the shrill ringtone of her cell phone. 

She pulls it out of her pocket with a sigh, and he smirks. 

“Hi Mom.” He hears the muted voice of Maggie Scully on the other end of the phone. She’s probably calling to apologize for her son’s behavior, and he’s pissed that she’s forced into that position.

“Well he was acting like a bastard!” Scully exclaimed, frustrated, and Mulder couldn’t help but laugh out loud. Scully shot him a glare, and he quickly pressed his lips together in silent surrender. She seems to be listening intently, so he shakes the wine bottle in her direction, forcing her to wave him off with an eye roll. As she mumbles “mmhmm” and “uh huh” he becomes bolder, eventually leaning over and trying to press the wine bottle to her lips. She pushed him back with a smirk, but reached for the bottle and took a drink before her next answer. It was his turn to smirk.

“I’m over at Mulder’s place” He grinned at her and tried to scoot in closer to hear Maggie’s response. She pushed him back again, this time with a softer smile. 

“Work stuff” she said, avoiding eye contact with him. The irony of her statement was not lost, and he tried to repress the laugh that bubbled up within him. He caught her blushing. 

“I’ll let him know. Bye Mom” She quickly hung up the phone and proceeded to drink a good 6 swigs before handing the bottle back to him, shameless. He hadn’t realized it was almost empty. 

The concept of Dana Scully, the Catholic raised and pant-suit wearing professional, drinking wine at a man’s apartment at night while on the phone with her equally proper mother made him chuckle. He wonders if this is the first time she’s done this. 

“What did your mom want to tell me?” he asked with a grin. She blushed again. He couldn’t tell if she was embarrassed or if the wine was getting to her. Maybe both. 

“She just wanted to say hi” she glanced at the bottle in his hands, avoiding his eyes. He let the little white lie slip past them as a gift to a friend. “You gonna finish that?” 

He shook his head. He was worried that any more and he would start acting in ways that would make Maggie Scully very disappointed. 

Scully pouted at his response, but leaned even closer to him, grabbed the bottle, and downed the rest of it, tilting her head all the way back to allow the last drops to trickle from the bottom of the bottle into her throat. Something about her throat made him want to mark it with his teeth.  _ Jesus _ , the effect she had on him was insane. 

She finished, and returned to gazing in his eyes with an impish smirk. He must have still been staring because she burst into a fit of giggles. Despite all the Irish blood in her, Scully was still a small woman who had just drank nearly a full bottle of wine.

“Scully are you drunk?” He teased. She burst into another fit of giggles as she shook her head, still smiling like the cat that ate the canary. He loved the sound of her laugh. He never wanted it to stop. He would personally fight every demon in this world so that she never had to stop smiling at him like she was right now. 

She felt loose, unrestrained, and so did he. They were so comfortable with each other in the strangest of ways, and this wine laden journey was just another layer. Intimacy for them often came in small touches and promises of protection, least of all through physical affection. But tonight, all bets were off, as Dana Scully, goddess in blue jeans, used his shoulder to push herself off his couch and waltzed into his kitchen, swaying her hips like the little vixen she was. 

“Where you going?” He called after her, but the only reply was the sound of a cabinet being opened and the melodious giggle he had come to adore. 

She was reaching for the top shelf when he walked in the kitchen behind her. Her prize was obvious. Striding up behind her he placed one hand on her hip and reached with the other for the half full bottle of whiskey her outstretched fingers were wiggling towards. 

He almost dropped it when he felt her step back into him. He flexed the hand still fixed to her hip as he felt a shiver run through him. As quickly as she came, however, she was gone, instead turning around to grab at the bottle he was holding. He reacted quicker, sober reflexes triumphing over hers, pulling it back and raising an eyebrow in response to her pouty lips. Drunk Scully was a dangerous creature, a tempting siren who could bend any man to her will. All he wanted was to please her. 

“And why should I give you some of my emergency whiskey?”, he teased. 

“Because I’ve had a  _ terrible  _ day, and now I’m out of wine”. She had to know what she was doing to him. Looking him straight in the eye, pushing her lip out even further. He rolled his eyes, laughing again under his breath. 

“What’s the magic word”

And  _ oh Dana _ you know how to make a man give you anything. There is no magic word, only Scully tilting her head back, closing her eyes, and opening her mouth, tongue stuck out and waiting. The vision was enthralling. 

She peeked an eye open when she heard him toss the cap on the counter, but closed it again with a giggle when she realized he had caught her. He shook his head, exhaling softly. With reverence, he gave her what she wished. 

The whiskey hit her tongue with a burn of ice and fire, and he watched as it slid down into her mouth, filling her up until he stopped pouring, and she swallowed. He had never wished to be a liquid before. She coughed before smiling up at him, eyes sparkling even though the closest light was now the television. 

“Your turn” She smirked and took the bottle from his hands. 

“I don’t think you can reach” he countered, but she grabbed a fistful of his shirt and pulled down. 

He would never deny her.

He got down on his knees on his kitchen floor, and it was only right that Scully should be the altar he prayed to. Still smirking, he first closed his eyes as she had, then stuck out his tongue to await the drink of his goddess. She poured sloppily, the hand of a distracted woman, and he had to swallow before she was finished, causing her to spill some on his lips and chin. 

He opened his eyes to see her giggle, mumble an apology, and lean over him. He barely registered what was happening before he felt her tongue, that perfect tongue, lap up a stray drop off of his cheek. He gasped, sharply. She pulled back, only a few inches, still leaning over him. He gazed up into her eyes and saw his arousal mirrored in them. 

“It’s your emergency whiskey, I didn’t want to waste it.” She smirked her perfect lips as she whispered. Her breath smelled like sweet wine and sharp whiskey. It was intoxicating. He closed his eyes as he felt her finger raise his chin to the heavens. She licked again, this one on his jawline, and he moaned. He felt her laughter in puffs of air on his cheek. 

“Scully…” he whispers, a halfhearted attempt to salvage a professional partnership he knew had been tossed out of the window the second she walked in tonight. 

She ran a finger over his lips to silence him and he thought he might black out. 

All he wants is her. His body shakes with the thought. 

She brings both hands to cup his cheeks, whiskey bottle long forgotten, and presses her lips to his. 

The feeling is that of resurrection. It’s an electric shock coursing through his body, lighting every nerve he has on fire, his thoughts only attuned to her, her, her. He remembers he has hands, and uses them to pull her closer, cupping the back of her neck with ferocity. She opens her mouth and he tastes her tongue. The taste of salvation and moscato. 

He breaks the kiss only to rise up to his full height before he descends upon her, grabbing her gently by the waist, still mindful of her injury, but equally desperate. She tangles a hand into his hair and pulls him into her. He could get lost in her mouth, following the flow of the whiskey before him, lips then tongue, fire and ice. She moaned into his mouth and he tightened his grip on her. His mouth traced the path his eyes had followed earlier. Off the curve of her lips, down to her jawline, where he licked and sucked and did everything in his power to remember the taste of her skin. She whimpered when he reached her pulse point, taking the fist in his hair and desperately pressing him against it. He nipped at her flesh, and then kissed it better. 

“Fuck” she drew out, shaking, and it made him wild. He sucked harder, knowing full well the dark purple bruise it was going to leave. Both of them couldn’t give a shit. When he finished, he kissed his way up to her ear. 

“Mine” he growled, and she shuddered in his arms. He carefully tugged on her earlobe with his teeth as he felt her nod against him. 

“Yours” she whispered back. It was all the permission he needed. 

He carefully traced his fingers up her sides, dragging the fabric of her top along with it. Her chest was heaving, their breaths mixing together in a cocktail of arousal and alcohol. He felt the bandage covering the wound from the warehouse and a pang of guilt passed over him. She sees it in his eyes and uses her own hands to push his higher, past the evidence of their last foul memory. He reached up to the bottom of her breasts and with a shock realized that her sweater had been hiding a secret. 

“Were you planning…” he dotted her collarbone with marks from his lips, sucking softly along each delicate curve “... on telling me…” another kiss “...that you weren't wearing a bra?”  _ kiss _ ,  _ kiss _ ,  _ kiss _ . 

“I was more hoping that … _ah_ _shit..._you would find out for yourself” 

He had to be dreaming. Any minute he would wake up in his bed horny and alone like every Saturday. But then she kissed him again and he figured that if this was a dream he hoped he was fucking comatose because he never wanted to wake up. He traced his hands over the underside of her breasts again and felt her body shake at his caress. Quickly he pushed the sweater up and over her head, careful to not disturb her bandage, her arms raising to help. And then she was topless in his kitchen on a Friday night and he was going to study her like she was a sculptor and she was his Venus. He would memorize every curve of her perfect body with his hands over and over and over. 

“Well?” 

He had been staring. How could you not when Dana fucking Scully was blushing and breathless in your arms. But there would be time for starting later. He turned his mind to devouring her. 

He palmed her breast and kneaded, watching in awe as her head fell backward and a sigh escaped her lips. He asked for permission through a silent question tossed up at her and she nodded a desperate nod. His lips continued their trail downward, licking and sucking on the hills and valleys of her chest until he came to her nipple, where he paused to circle it with his tongue. At the same time he flicked her right nipple he took the left one into her mouth. Her head shot forward, the hand in his hair pulled him forward into her, and she let out the most guttural moan of “ _ Mulder _ ”. His name had never sounded more perfect than when it came out of her mouth. He spent some time there, licking and sucking, pulling with his teeth then soothing with his tongue, just trying to get her to make different sounds. Curses flew from her mouth with ease and he was reminded of the rebellious streak in her. The deviant Dana Scully that cursed and drank and fucked. He loved this side of her. He’s drunk off of her and whiskey and wine and he can only think that he needed more. His brain is buzzing and he’s sure he didn’t have that much wine but maybe it's just the smell of her skin that's so intoxicating.

“Mulder I need you” 

He looked up to meet her eyes and saw her staring back at him, breathless and hungry. 

“Now.” 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Scully's POV

Scully had never been the deviant one. She made her bed with military precision, she only dated nice and respectable boys, she was a straight A student all on her own good merit. Her mother insisted that she was the golden child, the one you brag about to family friends at bridge parties. Truthfully, Scully was just as rebellious as her siblings. She just happened to be better at getting away with it. She was convinced her mother simply ignored her misdoings as she already had her hands full with Melissa, and as long as she kept her grades up she could do whatever she wanted in her own bedroom. If that wasn’t true then her mother must have been blind not to notice the extra tee shirts that kept popping up in the wash, or the times she arrived home late from the library with tousled hair smelling like new car leather and cigarettes. 

Either way, Scully adopted the persona of the reliable daughter. The responsible one. The golden child. So when her brother had the audacity to call her on a Friday evening and scream her ear off about responsibility and safety and all his other god damn concerns about her choices in career, she was simply pissed. 

Pissed that the golden child could become the fallen angle overnight for making her own decisions for once. 

She ignored his little comments about her partner on the phone call, choosing to keep the conversation focused on her, but his voice rang in the back of her mind all the same. 

_ He’s crazy, Dana. He has you going out on these cases putting yourself in danger for some insane crusade that already took one of my sisters. I’m not letting it take another one.  _

Bill would never understand. He could never comprehend how responsible little Dana could choose to follow one man to the ends of the Earth on her own free will. 

But she would. 

She was feeling deviant. It was dangerous. Dangerous enough to make her toss on a knit sweater top over her bare chest, foregoing the bra as it poked her bandages. _Or at least, that's what she told herself._ Dangerous enough to grab the bottle of white she was keeping in her fridge and her car keys. 

She knew he would be home, and she was even more certain he would let her in. What she didn’t expect was him flirting back at her. It went against every dynamic they had. Until now, one of them would flirt and the other would silently admonish them, playing coy and superior until the joking ceased and work began, and they could fall back on the safe partnership that they'd created.

But she was given three days leave due to the stitches in her side, and he couldn’t come up with a conspiracy more interesting than why she had shown up on his doorstep at 9:04 on a Friday night. There was no safety net to fall back on. It was just them, in his apartment, splitting a bottle of wine. 

She noticed him watching her. How could she not, with his gaze practically burning marks in her skin? It made her take bigger sips. 

His eyes were hot on hers, trailing fire into her cheek, her lips, her neck. She watched him too, watched as he turned the bottle ever so slightly so the edge of her imaginary mouth barely overlapped his on the rim where he drank from. She found it oddly respectful. 

Her mother called just to tell her off. Of course she apologized for Bill's words, but “why did you have to call him a  _ bastard _ , Dana?”

Mulder laughed at her answer and she couldn’t help but smile at him. He teased her with alcohol and disappointing her mother and she had never been one to deny a challenge. It was so easy just to joke with him. She saw his eyes widen as she drank with her mother listening, and even though she was well passed the legal age, she felt a rush of deviance. 

Her mother told her to really think about what he meant to her. Ask herself if he was really worth risking her life for. If it was, she needed to tell him. 

She was scared by how quickly she knew the answer. 

She knew he knew that “ _ hi”  _ wasn’t what her mother wanted her to tell him, and she silently thanked him when he didn’t press the issue. 

If she was going to do this she needed more alcohol. She already felt it dulling her senses, making her lips tingle and her filter weaken. She knew she was tipsy when she actually giggled in front of him. She was almost embarrassed. 

Her mouth went dry as she felt him staring, and the sudden memory of whiskey on a high shelf in his kitchen flashed through her brain. He had offered it to her before, usually with a waggle of his eyebrows and a look not unlike the one he was giving her now, after any particularly troubling case or really any time they had to do a lot of paperwork. Of course she had always denied, but then again she had always been wearing all of her undergarments at the time.

Alcohol was fuzzing her brain and her balance but the physical effort of maintaining her responsible appearance was making her desperate for any excuse to let go. 

With the last remaining brain cells not tinged by white wine, she made her choice. 

She heard him call after her as she sauntered into the kitchen with the energy of a free woman but she didn’t quite care. She had the obstinance of a child as she stood on her tiptoes to try to reach the bottle. She was about 5 seconds from climbing on top of the counter when she felt him behind her, and she leaned back into his presence. 

She giggled as he fumbled and made a swipe at the whiskey, which was easily blocked by him. She liked how strong he looked, framing her tiny body against the counter with his big arms. 

“And why should I give you some of my emergency whiskey” and the look he gave her made her melt. He was playing along now, both of them knowing how the night would end, but Scully didn’t mind speeding the process along. 

“Because I’ve had a  _ terrible  _ day, and now I’m out of wine”, and she pushed her lip out further to emphasize the point. He stared at her, eyes twinkling. 

“What's the magic word?”

Her brain tried to think of flirty comeback, maybe even just a smart one, but moscato wasn’t doing her any favors so she opted for tilting her head back and sticking out her tongue. She saw his pupils dilate with a hunger before she shut her eyes tight, waiting. 

The whiskey hit her tongue with a burn and she tried her very hardest to remain cool and collected as the fire hit the back of her throat. She swallowed and coughed before smiling up at him, her look probably reflecting the one she was receiving from him. Hot. Thirsty.  _ Desperate _ . 

“Your turn.” 

She pulls him down to his knees, and he lets her. She’s not kidding herself, she barely matched in strength with him on a good day when she’s sober. He let her. 

She poured into his mouth the best she could, more focused on his lips then she was on the actual task at hand. His mouth shut quickly and he sputtered, forcing her to rapidly pull up on the bottle. 

The whiskey dripped over his lips and chin and she simply couldn’t resist. She pressed her tongue to his cheek, lapping up the extra droplets, feeling the scratch of his stubble against her soft taste buds. She felt him shake.

Her face stayed close to his, their breath intermingling, and she found herself intoxicated on more than just alcohol. Mulder, tonight, was her drug of choice. She allowed herself a fleeting thought about how her brother admonishing her choice in partner just made her want to run to him more, like when her father banned her from smoking so she shoved cigarettes in every purse, pocket, or wallet of hers she could find. It was, of course, a rebellion. But it was a rebellion she very much wanted to lead.

He was questioning her with his eyes and she felt obligated to answer him. 

“It’s your emergency whiskey, I didn’t want to waste it.” And to accentuate the point, she trailed her tongue across his chin. It didn’t matter that the alcohol had already melded with his skin, leaving only a bitter and sticky substance for her to lick up. He gasped and the sound of her making him squirm made her laugh. It felt good to be in control. He whispered her name, but she silenced him with a finger, moving it over his lips to rest on his cheek. 

She held his face in the palm of her hands and realized she was holding her world. This man, this frustrating, incorrigible, beautiful man was her everything. How could she have ever thought otherwise. 

So she kissed him. 

She kissed him and the dam broke, and years of tension and trust came pouring out in a clashing of lips, hot and heavy. He stood to his full height, wrapping his hands around her waist, a tantalizing mix of desperate and delicate. She could kiss him for years, losing herself in the taste of his lips, his tongue, as he opened his mouth to her in what she could only describe as worship. He was worshiping her and she loved every second of it.

His mouth leaves her lips and she almost whimpers until it finds the underside of her jaw, her neck, and she feels what is what like to be marked by him. A curse escapes her lips in a strangled moan and she feels him growl against her throat. 

“Mine” he whispers into her neck, and she might as well be putty in his hands because she is his, _his_, _all_ _his_. She feels herself growing wetter by the second, knowing she’ll have to wear turtlenecks for the next week but not really caring. Or maybe she’ll wear a nice scoop neck, just to let the world know that Fox Mulder had finally claimed his territory. 

“Yours” she whispers back, and he stares into her eyes with so much need it makes her choke. His hands drag up her sides, lingering on the bandage and she sees him hesitate. Leave it to Mulder to feel guilty as she’s about to take her clothes off in his kitchen. She pushes his hands higher, leading him to the underside of her breasts, and his eyes widen before he dives back into her collar bone. 

“Were you planning…” he starts, interrupting himself by sucking on her clavicle. “On telling me… that you weren’t wearing a bra?” His assault on her chest made her struggle to think of an answer, but if he was allowed to tease then so was she. 

“I was more hoping that-” he tickled a particular spot on her neck with his tongue and another string of curses leapt from her lips, “you would find out for yourself”. 

It was true, of course, though she hadn’t admitted that to herself until just now. But he seemed satisfied with the answer as he moaned and pushed the sweater over her head. She aided him by lifting her arms, not wanting to hurt herself any further in the process, and when she dropped her arms he was just staring at her. He was slack-jawed, eyes wide, looking at her like a little kid looks at the biggest prize in the claw machine, nose pressed to the glass, full of ambition. The silence rang defining off the empty walls of the kitchen and she could feel every neuron firing in her body at once. She swayed back and forth, the dizzying feeling of Mulder’s eyes on her distracting her from everything else. 

“Well?” she asked, tentatively breaking the silence. If the world continued on without his lips on her for one more second she felt as if she might break. 

Thank God he knew how to read her mind. He was back on her in an instant, mouth and hand moving in synchronicity over her whole body, pushing and pulling her in exactly the right way, so wonderful she threw her head back in ecstasy. He touched her then, suckling on her nipples and her body seized. Words tumbled out of her lips, curses, moans, his name, those were about the only sounds she could produce at the moment. She fights off the numb feeling of intoxication and forces her desires out into the open. She needs him to know, needs him to hear her. 

“Mulder I want you.” He looks up at her to meet her gaze, breathless and hungry.

“Now.” 

He always has had a flair for the dramatics, as well as a propensity for overachieving. He lifts her off the counter with her legs wrapped around his torso, with the ease that you pluck a petal off a flower, and carries her towards his room like you would see in a romance movie. She wraps her arms around his neck and kisses him deeply, throwing him off his balance, and he kisses her back while he stumbles in the direction of the nearest bed. He nearly trips, _he'll blame the whisky later_, sending the pair crashing into a wall instead. She lets out a grunt of pain, her side protesting the harsh contact, and he instantly returns her feet to the floor. He’s so reckless with himself, her Mulder, he’ll run headfirst into the lair of a madman in pursuit of the truth, but when most men would pass off a grunt as a sign to continue, he puts her down and starts checking on her. 

She smirks as his eyebrow furrows in concern. 

“Scully I’m so sorry…” 

“Mulder it's fine”, and she's smiling now, placing her hands on his shoulders to steady him from his worrying. She feels the cold wall pressed against her bare back and remembers she is topless. 

It is an absurd situation. The two of them in the hallway outside his bedroom, intoxicated, breathing heavy, her side in a bandage, all of it. Maybe it was just the fact that it took them so many years to find themselves like this. 

She laughed, and he joined her, letting the sound fill the hallway and banish any awkwardness that was still stuck between them. He leaned forward and pressed his lips to her forehead. Her eyes fluttered shut as he pressed another one to her cheek, and then a final kiss to her lips that made them tingle. 

“Why’d you come here tonight, Scully?” She opened her eyes to see him smiling down on her, trying to conceal all the thoughts that must be running through his head. She smoothed his hair as if that would soothe them. 

“I knew you would be here”, she said simply. He laughed and brought her hand to his lips, kissing her fingers. 

“So all the seduction was impromptu?” 

She shook her head, suddenly shy again. Silence fell like a veil over them again.

“I just… I just like being with you.” She stared down at the ground after her answer, head hanging until a strong hand on her cheek turned it up again. He was beaming at her, and she couldn’t help but smile back at him. 

“I like being with you too, Scully” he whispered, and he pressed his lips to hers once more. She felt her body release all tension, melting into his grip, falling fast. She knew he would catch her. 

The kiss turned hungry as she opened her mouth into him, and he pulled her lower lip into his mouth, releasing it with a pop. How they could go from giggling in each other's arms to devouring each other so quickly was testament to their bond. 

“Mulder?”

_ “Mmhmm?” _

She paused, and he pulled back from her. She took the moment to look at him, remember his face the way it was right now, fresh and breathless, lips raw from contact, even more luscious than they typically were. It was a face she certainly wanted to become well acquainted with. 

“Take me to bed.” 


End file.
